


the only me is me

by Chibimun



Series: "qu'est-ce que c'est" / the cardboard chronicle [1]
Category: Super Paper Mario (Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Depersonalization, Eye Horror, Forced Fusion, I think?, Mild Gore, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Self Harm, Vomit, mouth horror, read the beginning note for some explanation behind this mess, really edgy perhaps but a necessary thing to me, something akin to parental abuse, timelapse, yes i mean the actual chaos heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibimun/pseuds/Chibimun
Summary: "...are you sure the only you is you?"Mr. L dies.Mr. L makes a bad deal.Mr. L has to deal with it.150 days.





	the only me is me

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, I HAVE SOME SERIOUS EXPLAINING TO DO  
> so, back in the day, there was this REALLY big smash brothers fanfic. at least, really big to me when it came out from 2007-2008. the plot involved luigi and solid snake, and one of the big reveals was...well, ass ghost mr. l. well, like with most villains, you have to wonder how they got there! with supportin elements from another fic that was written by the same dude, i give you this: my gift to cardboard box. my ode to one of my longest-running interests.  
> The Fuckin' Lore We Didn't Really Get

Day 1.

 

Mr. L woke up in a vast expanse of bright colors. Deep violets and blues mixed with vibrant reds and greens, surrounding him in a miasma of floating shapes.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep. Maybe he was dead? That might explain a few things.

He shook his head, noting the sick feeling that rushed through his body with the movement. He tried to stand, but was greeted with nothing but a harsh electric shock, and the realization that before he had even tried to move it, he couldn't _feel_ his right foot.

His eyes drifted downward as he began to panic. The membranous floor had swallowed his foot! He half-stood the best he could and _pulled_ , but nothing happened. His grunts became shouts, shouts became screams, and screams became fervent cries for help as he realized: _he was sinking deeper._ He was going to die soon, if he wasn't already dead, that is. Could he die again? He didn't want to find out.

He shrieked, and cried for help one last time...

_Something came._

 

Day 2.

 

Mr. L was, to put it bluntly not someone who made the best choices under pressure. The only good thing to come out of the situation at hand now is that he knew where he was, and why he was there.

One thing he learned is that he was right about being dead. The other thing is that he was in Dream's Deep, the essence and deepest version of the being inside the mind and subconscious.

He was basically just stuck in somebody's soul. Apparently, someone named Luigi. Apparently, someone that was him, but someone that he _wasn't._ Mr. L didn't want to question that, as the concept of being anybody but the Count's most loyal minion and/or The Green Thunder made his hands shake and his lips curl into a scowl at whatever quip the jester had just made.

Ah.

Yes.

The jester.

If he had listened to the metaphorical fine print of the agreement instead of screaming yes and panicking out of fear of nonexistence, Mr. L would've politely declined and let himself be absorbed back into where he _supposedly_ came from.

Their heads were stuck together.

It was an unconventional, but effective way of "combining" them, he guessed. Dimentio said the only reason they were still mostly separate was because they didn't get along well enough. Mr. L had said something along the lines of "no shit, asshole", and punched him in the nose. It had hurt him too.

Really, he was scared. _Really_. Scared. The kind of scared you'd get late at night, about things you couldn't explain. Dimentio started laughing, so he decided to not be scared anymore. Not when that rat bastard could just laugh at him.

 

Day 5.

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

Mr. L wanted to stop the horrible, droning noise, but his neck was nigh immovable and with every shift his left arm became more stiff.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

Dimentio had gotten a little quieter recently. Mr. L couldn't blame him.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip._

The black spot where their cheeks were fused together had started dripping some time ago. Knowledge carried over, and he learned that the dripping substance was part of something extremely important.

The Chaos Heart.

Whenever Mr. L thought about it, he could feel it beating, pulsing, _writhing_ warmly in his chest. It was praising in a nonverbal way. It felt like a mother's touch and a father's friendly pat on the back. It had made Mr. L sick o the point where he threw up more than once. The vomit was slimy and black, and looked like nothing yet everything all at once.

 

Day 10.

 

Usually they slept at the same time. They basically shared an internal clock, after all. Though beforehand they'd have different sleeping schedules and hours, since their bodies and minds were joined, linked, when one fell asleep the other usually followed. It didn't matter if they wanted to or not.

Mr. L hated sleeping so far, because he barely ever went to sleep first. Back in Castle Bleck, he did nothing but pull late hours and didn't really sleep at all. Now, it just felt like something was tearing at his consciousness until it was ripped out from under him, and he fell into a dreamless nothing for an unknown amount of time. It was uncomfortable. Uncanny.

Once, he woke up.

So far, he had been mostly aware of all the changes that had taken place. Even the ones Dimentio didn't seem to want to comment about. That may have explained why he had woken up at an unknown hour, unable to feel his legs.

He had had sleep paralysis before. Not enough to make a notable account of it, but enough to know what it was.

He tried to force a scream out of his mouth, but he couldn't make a sound. Tears bubbled in his eyes as he was forced back to sleep, with a soft _hush, hush_ in the back of his mind.

No matter how much of himself he lost, he would never be able to forget the image of his legs, winding and mangled like solid smoke, beyond what any person could do.

 

Day 15.

 

He had not had another episode like the one 5 days ago. When he slept, he slept. He had been more tired recently. His legs had been failing him more, as well. He tripped a lot more on the uneven ground of Dream's Deep. Sometimes he couldn't stand up. Sometimes he just fell to the ground, pulling Dimentio, who would laugh, mostly down with him.

He would laugh. He always floated, he never hit, just held Mr. L's side slightly off the ground with a painful, strained feeling.

Exhausting little shit.

Mr. L didn't know why, but he felt like change was coming soon.

 _Hush_.

He gagged.

 

Day 17.

 

He had slept for an entire day, turns out. Mr. L woke up to find his legs were gone. Not completely gone, mind you, but enough for him to start screaming.

In replacement of his legs was a wispy tail, reminiscent of a phantom's and the color of his overalls.

He moved his hands to his face instinctively and found more fingers than he remembered he had scattered all over his hand and wrist. Dimentio's arm was almost entirely merged with his own. Said jester only chuckled, a grin that gave away nothing on his face.

Mr. L panicked as his breathing sped up, faster and faster. There was a burning in his chest and throat and he let out a scream because he was _ready_ , he was _ready_ to die right now, please, if it would just let him get out of this. He was trapped here, like a goddamn _rat_ in a laboratory--

...like a...what?

The words escaped his panicking brain the second he thought them. His body shook in horrible, unnatural ways. He wasn't big on similes. He knew someone who was.

He screamed and cried, begging for someone to hear him, to let him _out!!_ He clawed at his chest, lying on his back. Something burned, hotter than anything he had ever felt.

_shhhh. shhhh._

It felt like something was wrapping around him, squeezing the life out of him like a snake. Calming words flew through his thoughts. His chest hurt as underneath the skin, something pulsed. It wasn't his heart. He was dead. A dead fucking _idiot asshole coward,_ of course.

It still burned. It still hurt.

_calm down. clam down. everything will be okay soon._

He rolled over onto his side threw up, and laid there for awhile. He was sobbing, at this point.

_how pathetic._

 

Day 20

 

He had gotten more or less used to floating around. He had also noticed Dimentio's torso now faded into his entire, but at the almost-end of his tail a little deep purple ribbon frayed off.

Mr. L had to admit. That looked kind of cool.

His emotions had started to dull. He had noticed it, subtly. Dimentio had also ceased talking entirely. He had noticed that one a lot faster.

Things started getting "stable". Mr. L learned to float. Dimentio was silent. The Heart was less quiet.

 

Day 25

 

He tried to claw his way out of Dream's Deep but his hands were too dull. The floor just kept coming back, anyways.

 

Day 30

 

_what if i told you there was a way to get out of here?_

 

Day 32

 

Melted flesh dripped down to the floor and Mr. L shrieked and shrieked and shrieked.

_burning burning HOT HOT HOT-_

_calm down, calm down._

A plethora of eyes appeared, disappeared, and melted off his face, oozing out the cracks of his static ask and rolling down his chin. Mouths did the same thing, opening and closing, some with different teeth, sharper or bigger, some screaming, some silent.

Mr. L fell down in the puddle of discarded parts and stared at nothing.

_you're going to need to know how to scare yourself before we can all leave._

 

Day 35

 

Something sharp pokes his tongue and slime coats his mouth in response.

 

Day 40

 

Sometimes Dimentio isn't attached to him anymore. Sometimes he can feel something else inside himself.

He know the specifics because he's pulled Dimentio out more than once already.

 

Day 45

 

He's getting used to having one body again, but something feels horribly wrong. Like a tool's been misplaced, and now he just can't find it.

He knows his new teeth are just for show, but some part of him feels like biting something.

 

Day 46

 

He pulled Dimentio out, he just couldn't take it anymore.

The blank grin of the jester greeted him with no emotion, mouth and eyes black and empty yet overflowing, dripping, never-ending, like a waterfall, like a spring, _like a-_

Mr. L pushed him back in.

 

Day 50

 

His hands were sharp enough to dig now, he knew that, but the floor just kept coming back.

 

Day 55

 

His first dream, but not the future's formal meeting.

Luigi was there.

 

Day 69

 

He stared at Luigi while he slept. He could see his dreams now. Refreshing. New.

Mr. L gnashed his teeth.

_do you want more new things?_

_..._

_..._

_yes._

**_earn_ ** _it._

 

day 65

 

He didn't remember well anymore. He didn't feel very good, either. Memories of Count Bleck were washed over with a horrible, pulsing drown. He cried, but not as much as he would've before. After all, he had two other "people"s worth of memories left.

_i miss him._

_you shouldn't. he was bad._

_aren't we?_

 

day 71

 

He woke up with Dimentio's arm and was _surely_ damn pleased to learn that their bodies were _fully merged and interchangeable now!_ He had also lost a days time to the clown doing his thing.

He didn't understand why he felt empty.

 

day 72

 

Luigi had nightmares, too. Ghosts, plants, fire, abandonment. Typical things. Mr. L simply sat there, he would've _horrible_ felt _how dare you feel bad_ sympathy _you don't matter anyways_ if not for the bile _nobody ever needed you_ already building in his _you are nothing_ throat.

 

day 75

 

He spent the day either curled up or having outbursts. He didn't feel like himself anymore.

_oh, you want "yourself" back? you know what you have to do._

 

day 80

 

_you seem to think you have a choice in this. i can make everything better if you cooperate. i can make everything worse if you don't._

 

day 85

 

He scratched at his face until nothing was left. he couldn't see due to the black slime and melted skin congealing over his eyes. He couldn't breathe either. That was fine, he was dead, after all. He didn't need it.

_now will you behave?_

 

day 90

 

Luigi was afraid of ghosts, fire, plants, abandonment, drowning, clowns, the void, rejection, failure, hurting people, secrets, people talking bad about him behind his back. Mirrors, sometimes.

_you cannot afford to be afraid._

 

day 95

 

_he shouldn't take long. when we get stronger...you've heard of possession, right? hurt somebody. hurt him._

 

day    100

 

Mr. L couldn't remember how he go there. He could tell you the basics, if you asked him, but that's all he knew.

Black drool pooled at the ground below him as he stared at his hands.

 

day 105

 

He had started telling jokes to the air. Practice.

He had started giving threats to the air. Practice.

He had started finding worse ways to contort himself. Practice.

He had been watching more dreams.

Anticipation.

 

110

 

He'd be in there soon.

Not watching. Talking.

Scare him. Scare him enough and he'd be free.

 

115

 

Any word stops sounding like a word when you say it or hear it enough. "Suicide" was definitely one of those words.

_when the body dies..._

 

120

 

Dream's Deep was boring.

 

125

 

soon.

 

130

 

Luigi was dreaming.

He normally didn't remember his dreams, of course, when them being so uneventf

 

131

 

And again.

 

132

 

_I'll beat your fucking head in myself if I have to!_

 

133

 

_You can't get rid of me._

 

134

 

_After all, I've been here a long, long time._

 

135

 

_You're going to die._

 

136

 

_I'm going to get out of here._

 

137

 

Luigi woke up and took a big, shuddering breath before using his fingernails to reopen every scar on his body.

 

138

 

_you're a natural at possession._

 

139

 

_I'm going to get out._

 

140

 

_I'm going to get out._

 

145

 

_i'm going to get out._

 

150

 

_i'm_

**Author's Note:**

> oh yeah i wrote a gostbage (thats the name i gave shit ghost coast to coast) epilogue too so GET READY this will Definitely Not Be the last cardboard box shit thing i write  
> (oh, since this is my only fic not to have a song name, its honorary song title is "domesticated animals" after th'queens'a th'stone age song.


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